A Mandalorian Wanted to Cry
by thesummerstorms
Summary: Dar's finally come home, but he's not at peace. All he can think of is her. Posthumous EtainxDarman ficlet. Takes place after Order 66 canon.


Then, for the first time , grasping that for every man, and himself, too, there was nothing in store but suffering, death, and forgetfulness, he had made up his mind that life was impossible like that, and that he either must either interpret life so that it would not present itself to him as the evil jest of some devil, or shoot himself.

- **Leo Tolstoy, ****Anna Karenina**

* * *

A Mandalorian wanted to cry, but he was afraid he had forgotten how.

Tears were weakness, tears weathered flesh like battles. Now when he craved erosion, he had forgotten how to cry. The unreleased tears were stone in his chest, dragging him under with the sound of dry thunder.

The lightsaber rested in his hand as solid as his longings and heavy as his grief. It was cold and lifeless against his bare palm, colder still as he shifted it to his gauntlet. He had never thought it possible for something so small to weigh him down so much.

Darman wanted to cry, but he had forgotten how.

The vastness of the blue sky stretched above him mockingly. It wrapped around him, suffocated him, threatened to crush him between its deep fingers. It was irreverent and baleful with its smile and promises. It stretched on and on like everything he had desired, but even could he take it in his hands, it would not hold what he sought. How could there even be any promise left with out...?

He faltered at the name. Darman's chest heaved in dry sobs, but his eyes were a desert and close to as lifeless.

Lifeless...

Mandalorians never cared for bodies, and now Darman understood why. The empty flesh that cooled alone on bloodied permacrete because he could not take it in his arms- surely that had never been her? That soulless husk, split open from shoulder to spine like a gutted fish?

Mandalorians did not need a body. A piece of armor would do, lasting forever and always lifeless, so that nothing had changed. A gauntlet to clench with his fist as he wore it, as if they were holding hands in secret. That was all that was really needed. But his wife had no armor to take. She never had the chance.

So now he was left with pieces of her that did not fit- the weapon that had both guided her life and taken it, the ashes that surely could never have been _her_, laughing and singing to her son, smiling with tenderness made all the more sweet for being given despite being forbidden.

Those ashes had heated and cooled and compressed the Corellian way into a black gem that had the hardness of the wall between life and death. The small black diamond could not be her, because it was nothing at all like her.

Armor would have been easier.

His lungs tremored, his body shook, but still he could not cry.

In their vows, they had sworn they were one. When together, when parted, always one. Now that the Force had taken her, it had taken half of him as well. It had ripped out his heart out of its chest, carved open the wound, and then had the audacity to tell him he was still living. They were still one, but yet they were broken in two. It made no sense, and yet it did.

He could give no devoir to the Force she had loved so much. It was merciless, its grasp razor-edged durasteel over the lives it held. It had held her and held her, promising her freedom, promising her that the path she took was the right one. And then it had killed her, taking his beautiful girl completely in its embrace, so that Darman would never hold her again.

"Etain..."

The word came out with a shudder and a gasp, for so long not allowed to pass his lips or fill his mind. The name would break him sweetly, slowly, the same way it had once been his greatest strength. The double-edged sword of the conniving Force.

His girl.

His wife.

"_Et'ika... _please..."

But the small black gem that was not her had no mouth with which to speak, no lips to press to his in comfort. No soft hair to breath in, or skin to touch. It was not, could never be his _Et'ika._

Darman knew it wasn't supposed to have been this way. It couldn't have been.

All the times he had seen Etain settle their child on her lap, lie sleeping peacefully in bed next to him- all those images were proof that something had gone horribly wrong.

Because if the Force or the Manda or whatever the _shab _was up there running things was the kind to shatter lives like Etain's, the ones that meant nothing to the galaxy but were everything that mattered, then he wasn't sure it was a galaxy he could even pretend to live in anymore.

Darman had always been a calm man, more optimistic than some if not all. He had always been patient. Until now.

Now, Darman hated the Galaxy. But he hated the Force more.

This was the awful power of the Force, which he could not touch or seek, as she had, but ruled over him anyway, an inescapable master. It had left him with nothing, not even himself. It had taken Etain away, and it was more than Darman could bear.

That cruel, irreverent Force that had been taking Etain's life from her since she was born. Passing her to the Jedi, claiming her servitude, leading her on, and abandoning her when she needed it most. His revulsion was complete.

It would not have Kad. That was the only thing that had kept him alive. Darman would not let the Force have his son. Darman hadn't been able to save the child's mother, but he wouldn't fail again. It wasn't even an option. He felt as if Etain was watching somewhere, unable to reach him yet charging him with the task of keeping their child from the monstrosity that had killed her.

But for right now, it was all Darman could do to hold on to the pieces. Of her- the lightsaber and the diamond of her ashed, but also of himself. His body shook like in a ground quake, threatening to fling him apart, but still the tears did not come. As she did not.

"Etain..."

He called, pleaded, begged again. But the only answer was the winter wind as it swept through the dead branches of the trees. Silence followed, as if she was waiting for him to do something, to change things so she could come home. He wanted to cry for her, but in his time with the 501st, he had forgotten how.

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Okay, this isn't actually new. I was going through my computer, purging old files, and I happened to stumble across this. Thought I'd post it.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own SW! If I did, there would be no need for this fic, as Etain would be alive and well and kicking Empire butt.


End file.
